


A day in the life

by Notwhatyouthink



Category: Original Work
Genre: ABDL, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Bdsm classification, But only because it's for the best, Depression, Diapers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infantilism, Littles Are Known, Littleverse, My First Fanfic, No Smut, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Spanking, classification fic, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:42:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24649669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notwhatyouthink/pseuds/Notwhatyouthink
Summary: In this world, everyone is split up into classifications depending on a test they take in senor year. You are classified into one of the three main categories: Dominant, Submissive, NeutralCharlie wished with everything he had that he wouldn't be a little. That he could live out a normal life as a neutral. But no, it seems the universe has other plans for him.As does his soon-to-be Caregiver, Peter.__________________________________________________________-
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 32
Kudos: 199





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone actually reads this, updates will depend on my metal health (or lack thereof) and how lazy I'm feeling, so bare with me on that.
> 
> This is the first fic of mine that I actually plan to post, let alone finish, so once again, bare with me
> 
> And! i have no real idea of where I'm going with this story, so if you have any ideas or suggestions PLEASE don't hesitate to comment them!

Charlie was overwhelmed, to say the very least.

He knew. He _knew_. And yet, despite the wishing on stars and praying at bedside, luck wasn’t gonna give him the time of day.

There wouldn’t be any _“hey, Ma, I made it!”_ moments. Not now. The world was just hellbent of screwing him over.

The dull black letters stared at him with the grossest intent. Almost as if to return his deathifying glare.

_Submissive: Little_

God, wasn’t that a painful view.

Honestly, there wasn’t any point in whining about it now. All this time, even before the official testing (especially before the official testing), he had known of his classification.

It was… obvious.

He was small and frail. As he grew older, simple motor functions seemed to slip away from him. Shaking hands and poor grip, trouble forming coherent thoughts, let alone speaking in an adult manner.

He drooled like a teething baby. Spicy/greasy/harsh foods in general simply destroyed his stomach. Bladder control was out of the question.

It was demeaning. Damning. Hurtful.

Despite how hard he tried, he was always betrayed by his own body.

Everything he has tried, all the methods, sugar pills, techniques, lead him to nothing but secret tears and the longing sense of failure.

He had tried so hard. So very hard to be anything different than what he was. To want things he didn’t. He tried to make himself normal. To want sex and alcohol and excitement like any other eighteen-year-old. But… no. Those things made him cringe. They made his head hurt.

He tried to suppress the wants he did have. Repeating the horrible names that he had thrown his way his entire life.

He’d deny any want for soft and childish things. Disregard any need for comfort at the most minor inconvenience.

Soon, once everything is official, Charlie will have to get a Caregiver. If he didn’t have a registered Cg by the end of six weeks, he’d be sent to an adoption center.

Charlie took in a sharp breath as a shudder went down his spine. He could just imagine LCPS (Little and Child Protective Services) storming in and dragging him away in front of his neighbors, in front of his mother. To be put in a bed he didn’t know and held by hands he didn’t trust.

Thoughts - bad thoughts - started swarming Charlie's mind like an unrelenting tornado with a vendetta to appease.

What if his Cg didn’t let him go back to school? Can they do that?

What if they try to take him and move away from everyone he knows?

What-if over what-if, question over question.

At this point, Charlie was simply breaking down. His whole life, he had told himself he was nothing more than a sniveling baby, and now, as he sat on the floor in a ball weeping for what he could only describe as the utter loss of his life, his classification shown through.

Through his utter distraught weeping, Charlie was oblivious to the opening of a door and petite footsteps coming his way.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

\--Three days earlier--

Tomorrow is what matters. Tomorrow is the end all be all. Tomorrow was the classification test.

Charlie already knew his classification.

But still, he hoped.

Neutral.

It was all he wanted. To be nothing more than a common majority. They lived in peace with no roles, no restrictions or guidelines. They could live their lives in peace without someone questioning their every move.

But, no. He was Little. He was little and small, and childish. He didn’t need some test to tell him that. Not blood work or mindscapes could change what he already knew.

Charlie wanted to cry.

\--

For the third time that morning, his Mother had brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear and kissed his forehead, telling him to be strong and that no matter his classification, his family would always love him.

“Do you have your ID, hun,” his mother chipped. She was determined to have every little thing ready. “Today is a special day, after all!”

“Yes, Mom,” Charlie waved around the small, plastic-covered school ID that showcased his age, grade, and blue hair with a lopsided smile. “Can we go now?”

“Ah, yes fine,” Beverly swiped her keys from the bowl on the door side table, “come on, squirt.” Charlie groaned, he hated the nickname.

“Wait!’” His aunt came hurtling through the kitchen covered in flour and a spatula in hand. She haphazardly shoved a lunch bag in his hand and kissed his cheek, “good luck, little dude.”

Again, a nickname he despised. But not for the childishness of it, but for the fact that they all knew that it wasn’t just a well-placed word. Little.

Beverly dragged her son out of the house by his wrist, not letting a single moment go to waste as he pulled him out of the apartment. The car ride to the school was quiet and uneventful, aside from the ten-minute delay of traffic. Really, they should have left sooner, seeing as every parent wanted to take their kid to school on classification day - a final goodbye to their unminoritzed children, you could say.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Immediately after entering the school, all students were told to go to their homeroom classes, so that they could be herded into the auditorium in an ‘orderly fashion’.

Unlike the usually endless talking, the classroom of teenagers was uncomfortably silent. No one was in a chipper mood today. No one was willing to horseplay or make a scene. Today was classification day, and the pressure was on.

Once every class had been called, every student within the premises was packed into bleachers, Charlie realized it was the same in here too. Instead, now the silence wasn’t just uncomfortable, but painful. A lead weight of unease in the air. Everyone was nervous - even the ones who were confident, so very sure about their classification; there was always that ‘what-if’ that lingered

‘What-if?’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Idk how I feel about this chapter.
> 
> I don't even know if it really makes any sense.
> 
> And I don't have a beta or anything, so there are guaranteed to be mistakes. 
> 
> And, once again, I don't really know where I'm going with this, everything just kinda comes out on its own, however it wants... soo, be aware of any inconsistencies

**Chapter two--**

“Abigail Foster, MaLe Grazer, Tomas Grazer, Pam Gardener, Peter Holmes…”

Charlie tried to drown out the noise. The endless murmuring and the never-ending chant of names being called off like sheep to a slaughter.

A woman stood at the front of the room, calling off names in rounds of ten. Earlier, she had explained she was a ‘classification specialist’. She told them, with a bright voice and dull eyes, a short speech of why they do the test and how. She droned on with practiced ease.

 _“I know it may seem scary, but remember, this is who you are, and your new lives; it’s for the best.”_ Maybe that ending was supposed to be comforting, but to Charlie, it felt like the countdown before a death sentence was dulled out.

\---

The girl next to him stood up harshly, her backpack colliding with his shoulder and sending him into the person to his right. Charlie sat struck for a moment, just watching as the girl hurried down the steps. At first, he wanted to snap at her, but after he got a glimpse of her face, her pale, _“I’m about to be sick”_ expression, and thumb that looked gnawed till bloody, all fight shriveled. 

However, that didn’t stop the guy beside him. 

“Hey! Watch where you're going, huh?!” 

The girl turned back in terror, let out a squeak similar to that of a gerbil, and hurried off. 

His attention snapped to the bulky guy beside him. He caught his eyes and flashed Charlie a thousand-watt smile, one that Charlie had to will himself not to shy away from. 

“You okay,” he asked.

Charlie, as dumb as it made him feel, could only stare at him in slight awe.   
Here was this guy, big and scary, by the looks of him, probably an athlete, definitely a dominant, and by god, Charlie was intimidated.

“I’m… fine, thanks.” Charlie gave the guy a quizzical look, that of which the man returned.

“ Um... thank you, for...” Charlie let his words trail off, a blush crawling up his neck, and opted for weakly gesturing to where the girl had hurried off.

The guy looked at Charlie with unease for a moment (which Charlie did not miss, but chose to ignore) and quickly replaced it with another electric grin. 

“I’m Mason,” the guy offered out a hand to Charlie.  
Again, Charlie hesitated. Confused as to why there was a need for introductions, but still, he offered his back. He didn’t want to be rude.

Well… ruder.

“I’m-”

“Charlie Montgomery, Paisley Minks, Tyler Martin, Ansley Martin, Patrisha Moort…”

Charlie snapped his head to the lady at the podium. He could swear she was looking right at him.

He stood up and the world swerved for a moment. Back and forth he looked between the lady and the line of kids waiting to be ushered out.

“...I’ve… got to go.” With one last glance at Mason, he made his way down the stairs. Each step he took felt like walking on glass, sounding in his ears like thunder.

He made it last in the line, and as he approached, a new lady in faded yellow scrubs adorned with grinning sunflowers placed a hand on his back and offered him a toothy smile. 

The students were led through the halls, all of them walking stiffly, and into the east wing gym.

The usual smell of sweat and teenaged musk was masked by hospital-grade disinfectant. 

The gym had been split into rooms. Small offices sectioned off by sterile sheets of privacy, each room being no bigger than a portapotty.

The woman in the sunflower scrubs stopped in front of the line offices three rows down, which had a “please wait here” sign. She turned to the students behind her and gave a bright smile.

“Now,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, “when the sheet opens, you will go in and show the nurse your student ID, so make sure you have that ready.”

Charlie, along with everyone else in line, scrambled to grab their ID off their person. 

Charlie pulled the small plastic card from his pocket, almost feeling triumphant that he had remembered to grab his this morning (no thanks to his mother).

“Remember,” sunflower lady started again, “don’t be scared, or nervous. Doctors aren’t scary, the test doesn’t hurt,” she gave a pleased smile, beaming at each face she crossed, “you’ll be just fine.” 

Charlie let her words sink in for a moment. He almost wanted to believe her, to let himself think the things she was saying were true. He wanted to, but he knew he couldn’t. The safety that she promised them was a lie. Safety was for normal people, not…. Littles. Not Charlie. 

He knew what his classification would be. He had every reason to be worried.

One after another, the sheets slid open, adults in scrubs and gloves and smiles came out, students following after them and into a line of their own on the other end of the offices. Each doctor took a moment to go back into their room. When they all came out again, the nurse closest to the sunflower lady called out a _“next”_. 

And one after another, each student filed into an office, Charlie going last. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long!! I had some difficulties writing this chapter, tbh. I kept putting it off cause I didn't like it, but I knew had to at least keep working or I'd drop it altogether. Honestly, if I ever disappear for more than a week, just like spam me until I get off my ass and do it. 
> 
> I think, once I get this entire thing down, Ima try and rewrite it~  
> And, tho I don't have an actual written down plan yet, Ima try to make this around 20-30 chapters, cause I know each one will be short. 
> 
> Once again, if anyone has any suggestions, or if you notice any mistakes, please lmk!

**Chapter Three---**

The chair was hard and uncomfortable. Charlie kept on squirming back and forth, the doctor shooting him a look of caution every few seconds. It was similar to the ones at a dentist’s office, with the steep incline and weird padding. (Which, by the way, did not settle his nerves.)

“All right now, Charlie, I'm going to need to take some blood real quick, then I’ll ask you some basic questions, then we’ll start with the classification test.”

The doctor turned as he finished speaking and looked at Charlie with a raised eyebrow, so Charlie quickly nodded his head, feeling like his brain was bouncing around like a beach ball.

Charlie eyed the needle with noticeable fear. 

Needles. No. Just… No. And blood, his blood. No way.

But no matter the protests Charlie made (which failed to escape his mouth in any form other than weak, pitiful whimpers), the doctor still swiped the alcohol swab against the junction of his arm. Charlie watched in frightfully slow motion as the needle came closer and closer. 

His breathing speeds up, his brow sweating fear from his body like a leaky faucet. 

Closer and closer the needle came, held bestowed like a stoic sword in the good doctor's gloved hands.

The needle pierced his skin, Charlie's eyes clamped shut, squeezing hard enough to make ghosts dance behind his eyelids. 

And just like that, the doctor withdrew.

“All over, you can open your eyes now, sonny boy.” The doctor placed a piece of cotton to the puncture wound, holding it tightly before lifting the pressure and stepping away.

Charlie’s eyes jumped open like they were wired with springs. He watched the doctor sit at his chair and stick a label on the vile, then stuck it in a rack with several others.

Charlie watched as the doctor wrote something down on a piece of paper, grabbed something, and turned back to face him. 

  
The doctor shoved a small paper cup into his hands. The liquid inside was bright pink and smelled of a highly concentrated bubblegum flavor.

“Pepto Bismol,” Charlie asked as he stared down into the cup with a frown. He hesitantly lifted the cup to his lips, almost gagging as it invaded his mouth, suffocating his taste buds. Not pleasant. 

“Yep,” the doctor chirped as he took the cup from Charlie and threw it into a nearby trash can, “with a little something else thrown in. You’re going to need it for what comes next.” The doctor pressed a sticky pad to each of Charlie's temples, long wires -- the one on his left temple was green, the one on his right, red-- connected to a small machine.   
A blood pressure cough was strapped onto his arm, and heartbeat monitor on his left pointer finger, all of which were connected to the small machine.

“Now, this thing,” the doctor patted the top of the machine in the same way one would pat a prised racehorse, “is going to trace any and all simulations you fall into, once given the serum. They will relay information, which will determine factoring and specifics of your classification.”

He handed me another small paper cup, this one having translucent blue liquid inside that smelled almost like window cleaner. Charlie wrinkled his nose in disgust. He looked to the doctor, giving him a "really?" look. The doctor just nodded and watched as Charlie downed it in one go. 

"Alright," the doctor started, he grabbed a clipboard and took a seat across from Charlie. "While we wait for that to kick in, I'm going to ask you some basic questions." He gave Charlie a confirming look, to which Charlie, again, anxiously nodded.

"In times of stress, how do you find yourself commonly reacting?"

Charlie had to think for a second. How could he answer this honestly without totally selling himself out? He couldn't exactly say he breaks down crying in the middle of his bedroom floor at two AM with his blanket and 'emergency candy' as he likes to call it. 

"I, um… I just get a lot of anxiety, I guess. You know, like, not sleeping well, being kind of on edge, stuff like that."

The doctor gave Charlie a kind of once over, look, as if confirming suspicions, then quickly scribbled something onto the paper. 

"Okay, next question: Do you find yourself becoming very emotional easily? Do you have trouble handling anger or sadness? Do you often find yourself becoming depressed?" 

“I... I don’t know, I guess. Everyone gets sad, gets mad. I handle it the same way everyone else does.”  
The doctor gave him an exasperated look, before standing. “Alright, I guess that’s enough, the meds should be kicking in about… now.”

And the doctor was right. Charlie’s vision slowly began to haze. His head felt heavy and groggy.

Charlie let out a pitiful groan as the doctor strapped a breath mask onto his face.

“You’re all right, just let it sink in, now.”

\-----------------------------------------------

  
The stars gleamed like nothing ever before. The air was cold and brittle, the ocean thrashed as rain poured down. 

Charlie wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep the cold away -- little good it did. He had been sat there for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was closer to forty minutes. 

“Charlie!” 

He ignored the sounds of his mother's worried shouting. 

“Charles, please!” Charlie recognized that voice, his father's voice, one he hadn’t heard in quite a while, and for a second, he remembered this was a simulation, before falling back into his six-year-old world.

Hands suddenly clasped around him and he was lifted. He wailed in fear. Guilt.

“Charlie, oh my baby!” His mom cried. "Johnathan, I have him!”

More arms were wrapped around him.

“Charlie, don't you ever run away like that again,” Beverly sobbed.

“What were you thinking, boy?” 

Charlie looked up at his dad with shaking eyes. He… what had he been thinking? He just had to get away, he couldn’t deal with the fighting anymore. The constant yelling, arguing, shouting; the anger and hate that his parents threw at one another like it was nothing more than a regular conversation - but, he guessed, to them, it was. 

Charlie thought that the only thing he could do was to run away. His sister had done it - the first chance she got, she moved half-way across the country, moved in with her boyfriend a week after her twenty-first birthday, without so much as a goodbye. Charlie had felt abandoned, betrayed, but, then again, he understood. Ever since Alyssa took her classification test, the house had grown dark. Charlie didn’t know what her classification was, but he knew, whatever she was, their dad didn’t like it. The fighting had been going on for as long as he could remember, but after Alyssa’s test, it was like never before.

When Charlie had grabbed his stuffed rabbit and raincoat and rushed out the door, he thought this was some genius plan. That he could get away, just like her. Maybe, after he had left, he could come back, and his parents could be happy again. 

His parents brought him back to the house, gave him a talking to like no other, and sent him back to bed. But Charlie didn’t sleep…. All he could do was listen to his parents’ shouting, all he could do was want to be held. 

His running away did nothing. Helped nothing. He had failed. He was so alone.  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I'ma be honest, this chapter is my least favorite so far. It was hard to write and felt forced, but I tried my best. I kinda think it may be confusing, so if any of you feel the same and have any questions, feel free to ask, and I'll be happy to answer :)
> 
> Sorry it sucks but thanks for reading<3

**Chapter Four--**

Faintly, for the barest of moments, I was aware of the beeping of the transcription machine, the sticky pads tugging at my skin, the smell of hospital disinfectant. 

Then, I was twelve.

The dinner table was quiet and stiff. If it had not been for the DNA we shared, there was no way to tell we were a family. Well, who was I kidding? We weren’t a family, we were lonely, scared strangers who sat together with big, fat, fake smiles.

“So, sweety, how’s work going,” my mother asked my scowling sister. Alyssa, after the strenuous begging from our mother, had fretfully agreed to come home for a visit. 

“It’s fine,” She said bluntly as she harshly stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork, creating a horrible squeaking sound against the plate that made me cringe. 

“And Thomas,” my mother urged conversation, anything to fill the silence, “how’s he?”

“He’s-” 

“Leading you around with a leash? Locking you in cages? Treating you like an animal?”

Over the years, I had come to realize the cause of all the anger in the household; my sister was a submissive, and a Pet at that. My dad had been less than pleased. After she had left, my parents fighting mainly centered around that. His endless hate and discrimination towards her. Not that I would ever say it aloud, but I was so very scared. Scared that in six years I too would become the brunt of all his aggression. 

My mother was stunned by my father’s words, but Alyssa? She was simply enraged. Before any of us knew it, Alyssa was jumping up from her chair, causing it to fly back with a crash. 

“I fucking knew it!” she started, shouting at the top of her lungs, pointing an accusing finger at our father. “He’s changed!? Really, Mom? What bullshit.” 

“Alyssa, I-”

“Hey!” My father stood up this time, along with my mother. It was only me, sitting alone at the table watching my life fall apart before my very eyes. “Don’t you talk to your mother like that, you disgusting bitch!”

“Jonathan!” My mother gasped in surprise at his words. I looked at my mother's face, she was crying, she looked heartbroken. I looked to Alyssa's, and she too was crying, but instead of sadness on her face, there was nothing but fury.

“What? That’s what she is, isn’t it? A fucking dog? A _Pet_. An abomination to this world!” 

Alyssa just stared at him for a moment, before she looked to my mother, she looked to me, and all emotion left her. She let out a sigh and a heartbreaking crackle, laced with nothing but pain. 

“You never loved me. You are a heartless old man, and you were never my father…” She looked him dead in the eye, with nothing but hate. “I’m leaving, and if I ever see you again, I’ll press charges.” She looked at my mother once again. “Unless it’s to tell me you’ve left his sorry ass, don’t call me.” With that, she walked away. The front door slammed in the other room, and then she was gone. 

  
Once again, the house was deathly quiet. My parents stared at one another while I could do nothing but sit there. I sat there confused and angry and scared and sad. So very sad for my sister, for my mother.

Why had that happened? Why did he say those things? He was so mean, and everyone was so angry. 

Then my mother spoke.   
“Get out.” Her voice was soft and quiet, but underneath was nothing but anger.

“Excuse me?” My father snapped, voice filled with aggression. 

“You heard me, get out!” I watched as my mother started wailing on my father, neverending tears spilled from her eyes. “Leave, Jonathan. Leave and never come back! I have sat here and watched as you’ve done nothing but destroy our family, our daughter, our son… me; but I won’t do it anymore. I am not weak.”

It was my father’s turn now to stare, to have that awestruck look on his face.   
“You’re kidding me, right? You seriously think you can just kick me out of my own home?”

“Fine! Then I’ll leave!”

My father made a face and scoffed, “Fine! Runaway! You are pathetic. Go ahead and take Charlie, too,” He gave me a look of disgust, of grit and hatred. “but don’t come running back to me when he turns out to be nothing but a _perverted submissive_ just like her!”

My mother gave him a final look before she stormed over to me and snatched up my hand in a painful grip. “Trust me, there will not be any more tears spilled over you.”

She rushed around the house stuffing some of our clothes and things in an old brown suitcase. Once her keys and purse were in hand, I was being tugged out the door.

Before I knew it, I was sitting in the back of the car, staring frightfully out the window. My mom was talking (more like sobbing) to someone on the phone, and the road was bumpy, and the way she drove was unstable. 

My head spun with confusion and fear. My brain screamed at me to do something other than just sit there. To do something to stop the pain and anger and sadness. So, I did the only thing my body allowed.

I cried.

I started sobbing and heaving and crying, and it never seemed to stop.  
Everything that had just happened came all at me at once, and my mind yearned for release.

Eventually, I became aware of how my crying led to me laying my head down against the window, my stuffed rabbit pressed against my cheek. I allowed sleep to overcome me, and for a second, I thought that maybe it would be best if I never woke up again. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is like 400 words than I usually do (yay!) but not that much.
> 
> I'm trying to make them longer, if not for the story, then for my sorry ass self-esteem. 
> 
> I hope it's good! My digital editor told me it was bland (asshole), so, idk, I'm kinda worried about that now. 
> 
> I know we've been stuck on the test part of the book, but that's over for the main part and the plot train shall continue to commence!!

**Chapter five--**

The feeling of coming out of his induced stupor was like rising to the surface from underwater, pressure on his bones, and peaceful floating. It took him a moment to decipher the world around him, where he was, who was with him, if he was awake or still dreaming. 

It took him a minute to collect himself, and then he was crying. He hated it, it made him feel weak, but those memories, the thoughts he tried so hard to keep himself from thinking, it was all so much.

He told himself that anyone would do the same. That the person in the stall beside him was balling their eyes out too because they just remembered their most painful memories. 

_Whatever you need to tell yourself_.

"Just on time," the doctor broke his self-indulgent cries. 

He started carefully peeling the sticky pads off of Charlie's skin, making sure to check for irregular irritation.

The doctor helped Charlie to sit up before placing a tissue into his hand, along with a sympathetic smile that Charlie forced himself not to openly scowl at. 

"It's perfectly fine, sonny. I know how stressful and scary that can be."

The doctor's voice took on a tone of sympathy and careful gentleness. He was speaking to him as one would talk to a scared child.

 _Damn it!_

All the doctor had done was administer a mindscape reading, and he already had Charlie all figured out. 

"I'm fine," Charlie growled out. This wasn't how he wanted this to go. 

"I'm sure you are," the doctor smiled, sounding pleased. Which confused Charlie; what was there to be pleased about? He wanted to tell the doctor to shove it with his smiles and stupid, unhelpful words. But, fretfully, he didn't. He was feeling sad and grumpy, all he really wanted to do now was take a nap, maybe eat something sweet.

"Now, if you'll sign this," he shoved a tablet and pen into Charlie's hands. He skimmed the digital paper on the screen, noticing the release form and long dotted line. 'Sign here' it said, _give your consent for your life to be forever changed in ways you have no control over. Because you're a baby, a stupid, sniveling baby._

Charlie forced those thoughts out of his head. There was no need in being so negative now, he just needs to get through the day. Get through the day, deal with his doting parents, ignore his friends in favor of submerging himself into his thoughts. Do that, and his bed awaited, his stuff rabbit awaited, his blanket awaited for the breakdown that was sure to come. He'd cry himself to sleep, beg and pray for a future that would never be.

He stared at the signature line and willed himself to comply. He scribbled down his name, barely phased by the illegible chicken scratch that was his writing, then shoved the tablet back at the doctor, avoiding his gaze. He didn't want to see the pity. 

The doctor took back the tablet, casting a cautious gaze upon the solemn boy. He’d seen many cases like this one. The boy’s classification was on the more obvious side. And while classification prejudice has largely dissipated, especially among submissive categories, there was still random classicism and the undoubted fear that came along. He could only imagine the struggles the small boy was facing. The doctor himself was a Master, and as a man of age, he has faced a fair share of hate. People expected him to be cruel and merciless, having nothing but the desire to control and belittle, but that could not be farther from the truth. When he was a boy, he was surprised by his classification, having believed the stereotypes he’s heard about his own kind and couldn’t imagine doing the things he felt were expected of him, but he moved on, he learned that classification doesn’t define someone. He wished he knew that when he was younger, and this sad boy in front of him needed to know too.

The doctor let out a deep sigh before crouching down in front of Charlie. He grabbed the boy’s reluctant attention and met his eyes. 

“Boy, now you have to understand…” the doctor thought of his next words carefully; the last thing he wanted was to make this worse, “I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, but your classification, while greatly important, doesn’t have to be your entire life. I know it can be hard to stand up for yourself, especially when you’re a… Well, you just have to be confident, make sure you don’t let your dominate control you in ways you don’t want.” Fat tears slowly descended down Charlie’s face. “Being submissive does not mean you are weak. You are not weak, you are not less than.”

_"I am not weak."_

_That's what Charlie's mother had declared. She told his father that she was not weak. But Charlie was not his mother. Charlie was weak._

The doctor's words, while helpful, also hurt. It had to when Charlie had spent his entire adolescence trying to be something he wasn’t, and for the doctor to spend less than an hour with him and just know. He figured he should thank him, or say anything at all, but all he did was stare at him through watery eyes. He moved his head in some semblance of a nod. 

The doctor let out a dejected sigh and stood up with a pat on Charlie's knee. 

“Well, I guess that’ll be all, you go on out now and follow your nurse guide to the next station.” 

Charlie nodded again and walked through the sheet without a look back. He saw nurse sunflowers hurriedly waving him over to fall into the line with the rest of the students, making him last once again. It seems he had taken longer than all the rest as the group behind rushed into the stalls. Sunflower lady spied on his red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face and suppressed the urge to coddle the boy. She gave him a tight smile that didn’t reach her saddened eyes, then took her attention away from the boy to lead the group to the testing area. 

Everyone in the group was sluggish, some sporting the same teared-up face that Charlie held, which, admittedly, did make him feel a bit better, or at least allowed him to unclench his chest a bit. Charlie noticed as they walked through the halls that the lights were duller and everything seemed to take on a gray tent. He remembered reading something about affected eyesight being a common side effect of the test. So were bloody noses and headaches, so he guessed he’s lucky neither has yet to occur, unlike the girl a few people ahead of him who was holding a bloody tissue to her nose, or the guy at the front who winced every time the shuffling of feet got too loud.

The group was brought to a stop at hallway 500’s computer lab. All the computer seats had been split into three groups of ten. Groups at the front and back of the room were heavily entranced in their computer screens, leaving the middle open and waiting for them.

Charlie, having been last in line, got the computer on the isle, which he was so very thankful for; easy escape route and all. Like always, the seats were hard plastic and uncomfortable, not lenient what-so-ever. 

As Charlie signed into the test with his preassigned password, all he could focus on were little things everywhere. The bad chairs, the loud air vent in what felt to be a sub-zero room, the never-ending clicking of keys, the smell of dust, and dry erase markers. Everything that could possibly dawn on his senses did. He felt a forming migraine behind his eyes. 

The test questions didn’t help his drastically increasing anxiety, either. It was a weird mix between extremely simplistic questions like, “what’s your favorite color?” and deeply complex ones that Charlie didn’t really know how to answer.

How exactly does one honestly answer the question, _“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your emotional range?”_

Or, _“In five words or less, how would you describe your home life?”_

It took everyone around an hour, give or take, to complete the questionnaire. Charlie’s back had gone completely stiff, halfway through the test he noticed his left eye began twitching.  
He was one of the first people to finish, having rushed (even though it was heavily advised against). He just wanted it to be over with. He wanted this whole day to be over with.

He wanted a time machine to go to two years in the future, to see where he’d be, to see if all this, if everything was worth it. Who would he be with? What would his life look like? Would he still live with his mom and Aunt? Would he have a caregiver? A job? Friends? Or would he be condemned to one person, one house, never to be seen or concerned over ever again?  
It was all too much and he just wanted to wail and cry. He wanted to throw things and demand that whoever controls the universe gives him a redo. New life, new body, new family. To live in a world where he wasn’t doomed to live in a box of lonely happiness. 

They were dragged out of the computer lab and taken to the cafeteria. There, they were given a sticker to show that they have taken the test and a sheet of paper with a determined results date that their parents were to sign. 

After being escorted to the cafeteria, they were given a choice of checking out early or getting food and staying until the end of the day, which was another hour and a half. As much as Charlie longed for home, longed to be away from this desolate hell hole which was Public school, his mother was working and if he called his aunt, well, all that would lead too was a never-ending train of sympathetic hugs and head noogies. Maybe she’d try and get him to watch one of her weird nerd movies with her, or bake him some weird vegan (yet, admittedly, not that bad) pancakes. Any other day, an afternoon spent with his Aunt Helen was heaven on earth, but today, he just couldn’t.

So, he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like usual, leave comments for mistakes you catch and ideas you have, and if you have any input on story/chapter length, and wish to share with the class, that would be groovy, cause I'm kinda at a loss.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late!! I took a mini-vacation a while back which turned into me having the worst writters-block and insane procrastination.
> 
> tbh, this is my least favorite chapter so far, I kept rewriting and editing and deleting and (poorly) planning and it got me nowhere, so I just decided to suck it up and finish it, and I could fix what I needed to later.
> 
> Tell me what you think or if you have in suggestions or whatever, input is my saving grace!

**Chapter Six--**

At the bat of Charlie's foot, a pebble hopped its merry way down the dirt path. He inhaled deeply, letting the zingy salt air splice his mind of intruding thoughts. So close to the ocean, everything was covered in sand, and he was sure he'd be taking an entire damn sandcastle home with him in his shoes.

He'd been out here for hours, it seemed, by the dimming of the sky and bursting colors of the sunset. He'd shot his mom a quick text, a simple "I'm fine, be home later" before his phone had died. Maybe he should have charged it, should have gone home; Home to his bed and TV, home to his thoughts and prayers.   
But, he knew if he did that, his time would be consumed into the void that was articles about classification, age-regression, and suppressants, his mind consumed by questions and never-good-enough answers. 

As a strong wind passed over him, pushing against the trees and flowing like water past his ears, he took a pause. He watched a late-night Segal fly all by its lonesome above the water. So very suddenly, a gentle thought of what it would be like to be a bird waded into his head. To have the freedom, the explicit step-by-step life, of a one-minded being. 

Wouldn’t that be nice?

**\---**

The last light of the day had faded and Charlie's heart struck into his throat. He knew he should have made his way home earlier, but he had been too caught up in his own mind, too busy making his imaginary life by the sea, to be too concerned by the time. 

He clutched his bookbag closer to his body as he made quick strides on the sidewalk. Every horror story he’d ever heard about people being kidnapped, robbed, killed, and more whilst they walked alone along the road past dark rose to the front of his mind. He couldn’t help but be wary of the bushes and dim pathways he passed by, knowing with certainty that something was going to pop out and grab him.

He had felt so brave, earlier; so independent. He told himself that he was perfectly capable of being out late by himself, like any grown adult. But the second he found himself alone in the dark, all bravery fled him. Like a child, he’d been so sure of himself, and like a child, his ignorance had proved him wrong. 

His heart swooned as he saw his apartment building come into view. Aside from the few sparse street lights, the area was dark. Each quick step he took banged against the pavement, up the old metal stairs, across creaky wood until he came face to face with the front door. 

As gently as he could, Charlie slid his key into the lock. Despite his trying the door still creaked when he pushed it open, emitting a low groan that echoed throughout the apartment. He closed the door behind him and gently put his key in the bowl. 

Though he didn’t have the actual time, he assumed it had to be around ten, so it came as a shock to him to see both his mother and aunt on the couch. Their frames were illuminated by the TV, and as he quietly made his way over, he noticed his mother was passed out, her head laid on a throw pillow and legs sprawled chaotically on top of his aunt. 

He tried with all his might not to be noticed by his aunt, or, god forbid, awake his mother, but, well, somethings are easier said than done.

“Charlie?” His aunt’s voice was soft, as gentle and smooth as always. His back clenched at being caught and he wondered if it was worth the risk to just hightail it to his room. Shoot first, ask questions later. 

Hesitantly, he turned around to face her. She was looking at him, and Charlie couldn’t help but notice the bags under her eyes, the laugh lines and crow's feet that were slowly but surely making themselves known on her face. She was still young and beautiful, no doubt. 

“Are you… okay,” she asked hesitantly. He could see the worry on her face. He knew it was a legitimate question, he was gone all day (which was exceedingly out of place for him), and on classification day, no less. He knew she deserved some type of answer. Something more than the obvious lie that was on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m…,” his eyes avoided his aunt’s, knowing he wouldn’t find any solace in them, “it was hard. The test. Stressful.”

His aunt, with an insane amount of grace, moved his mother's limbs off of her and walked to him. As soon as she was in distance, she grabbed Charlie in a tight hug.

“I know, Charlie, I know. It wasn’t easy for me either, or anyone for that matter.”

Charlie suppressed a scoff into her shoulder. “Yeah, but, you’re a Dom, I’m a…” 

“You’re a submissive, Charlie, a Little.” Charlie was pried away from his Aunt’s chest. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind Charlie’s ear, giving him a weak smile, but one full of so much love. “It’s not a bad thing, never will be. We love you no less, never have, never will. We know this isn’t easy for you, but your mom and I, your sister, we’re all here for you.” She wiped a stay tear away from her eye. “You are a beautiful person, Charlie, and I know you will make someone the happiest, luckiest caregiver in the world.” 

Charlie felt a sob climb its way up his throat. He felt pathetic crying, but everything she was saying was true. He didn’t know why it was so hard for him to accept this, everything was telling him to just be happy and okay, but he couldn’t.

He gave his aunt one last hug and they went their separate ways. Charlie’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he undressed for bed. His head felt like it was full of cotton and his eyes were sore. He hadn’t liked today. It had been exhausting, confusing, unwanted.

Maybe, if he was strong enough, he could just will himself to be okay with the reality that was coming down on him like the wrath of a god. He could just let himself be the simple, mindless Little everything was telling him he was.

To be pampered and dotted on. Not a worry in his mind. He could be one of those Littles that were in headspace 24/7. He wouldn’t have to work, or worry, not a single fear. He wouldn’t have to think or make decisions. 

To some, that may seem like a perfect reality. To sit still and look pretty. But to Charlie, it was horrifying. 

Sooner or later, Charlie figured he'd have to learn how to deal. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I literally got nothing to say other than I am a useless TurtleDuck and I'm sorry for the excusiatingly long wait.

**Chapter seven--**

  
  


The crumpled sheet, stating Charlie’s classification, his entire livelihood in small plain letters, sat at Charlie’s feet. In his fit of tears, he’d crushed the paper into a ball, perhaps thinking that if the ink was too broken to read, maybe it would go away. 

He’d fallen to the ground, hunkered himself into a ball, such as the paper, and wept in an empty science classroom. 

The envelopes had been given out during homeroom. Most kids were tearing into the paper as soon as it was in their hands. Some were placing them nice and neatly in their bags, having promised to wait until they were surrounded by the peering eyes of their family. 

Charlie, however, just stared at it as it sat limply in his hands, unable to grasp onto it, the life that was awaiting him.

His aunt and mother were hoping that he'd wait for them (though they knew he wouldn’t). He knew that they were (secretly) planning a surprise party for him. He’d heard his Aunt talking on the phone with his sister; apparently Alissa’s arrival was supposed to be a surprise for his mother as well as him. 

He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about her arrival, probably happy, but he couldn’t escape the feeling of… guilt. Guilt that if their father was still around, Charlie would have gotten the same treatment as she did, but he’s not, and Charlie gets to avoid the wrath of a hateful parent. Charlie didn’t want to see the look of spite that was sure to cross her soft features. 

_ At this point, Charlie was simply breaking down. His whole life, he had told himself he was nothing more than a sniveling baby, and now, as he sat on the floor in a ball weeping for what he could only describe as the utter loss of his life, his classification shown through. _

_ Through his utter distraught weeping, Charlie was oblivious to the opening of a door and petite footsteps coming his way. _

He was oblivious to the shocked expression that would settle over the onlooker's face. He felt like his head was full of stuffing, and for a fleeting moment, he compared himself to that of a stuffed animal. The only thing he could do now was to accept the truth, seeing as his results were most likely already updated into his personal information that anyone anywhere could access. Letters that were advising the making and processing of his new state-mandated ID were already being sent about. His future was falling into place at his feet and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  
  


The warm hands that had grasped his shoulders shocked him, startling him into crashing his head back against the wall he was leaning on. His face scrunched in pain as his fingers shot back to touch his head. He heard a muttered curse above him, frantic breathing. Charlie was still unaware as to who had interrupted his breakdown, and instead of finding out, he opted for scooching himself as far away from the unwanted presence as possible, which wasn’t very far at all, and burying his head under his arms. He heaved painful sobs at this point, completely lost unto the overwhelming feeling of the situation he was trapped in. 

He continued to heavy sobs, his sense of reality slowly slipping away. All he could think about was the fact that his head hurt and he was scared. Scared, sad, crying in front of a stranger.

He wanted someone to come and hug him, he wanted to be held and rocked, pressed tight against someone's body, and told everything was going to be alright. 

And then that was happening.

Without realizing it, he was being moved into someone’s lap, face pressed into their chest. There were hands carding through his hair and shushes being placed against his ears. 

At first, he was afraid that there was a stranger holding him like a scared child, but the warmth of the embrace pulled him away. The earthy scent of amber and dirt coaxed him to take deep, shaking breaths that overpowered his crying. Soft and heavy words wrapped around his skull. 

All he knew at that moment was this unknown presence that was like being surrounded in a soft blanket. That engraved a feeling of peace and calm into him that he’d never known before. His eyes closed and his breathing turned shallow.

He felt like he was asleep yet was still aware that he was awake. His bones turned to sand and his fingers felt clammy. He wanted something to bite between his teeth and the rocking of the person holding him to go slower, yet longer. 

The soft shushes being placed against his hair coaxed him into taking deep breaths. After a moment, having noticed Charlie had calmed, the person let out a deep sigh and stilled their rocking. Charlie groaned and snuggled his head deeper into the stranger's chest, hands curling into their shirt in a death grip, displeased with the absence of movement from the stranger. 

Instead of continuing, they simply patted Charlie on the back and sighed a soft "there, there." 

A strange sense of peace settled over the two, dust clogging up Charlie's thoughts, and all that was left was a stuffy feeling of smallness. Like the world had become too large and overwhelming to comprehend, or even bother with. 

The bell sounded overhead, and it blared an unkind intrusion in Charlie’s ears. The stranger pulled Charlie closer to their chest, soft palms closing around his ears until the ringing relented. The world jostled and bounced as the stranger stood with Charlie still held tight in their arms. His body was pulled away from the embrace and pushed into a chair, and immediately charlie felt heartbroken at the loss. As if his entire world had been torn away from him, even though they stood right there.

The door to the classroom opened and students began to file in. Finally, charlie got a good look at the person in front of him as they used the ends of their sleeves to wipe charlie’s face. They graced him with a soft smile, wide lips, and blond peach fuzz on their chin. Charlie looked into their eyes and he was met with a dull blue, balanced with muddy green streaks. Shiny blonde hair that fell around their neck in floppy waves. 

Charlie was utterly entranced by the person in front of him, who was still crouched down in front of him, holding his hands, despite the fact that people had filled the classroom, and were for sure looking at them.

Charlie wondered if his ears had been filled with cotton and if that had been the reason the noisy world around him had become so muffled. He could only watch as the stranger looked away from Charlie, yet never moved away, never let go of him, to speak to someone who stood above them. He couldn’t understand what they were saying. He knew they were talking, but it was like being underwater, he couldn’t even comprehend enough to focus on the movement of lips. 

Slowly, like someone was zooming out of an enlarged image, he felt himself come back together piece by piece. His moment of…  _ delicacy  _ had left his mind feeling swollen. He felt an oncoming migraine like a freight train. He closed his eyes to shield himself from the brightness of the classroom. He felt the hands that held his tight and twitch every so often, and it was when they shook rather precisely, did Charlie open his eyes again.

The stranger was looking at Charlie, glassy eyes so gentle it hurt.

“Are you with me?” Their voice was grounding, and even though Charlie knew the question had been directed at him, it took him a moment to answer.

His voice sounded small and hoarse, but it wasn’t a surprise after his episode, and neither the stranger nor the teacher above them felt the need to notice. 

“Okay, Charlie,” slowly he tore his gaze away from the blue eyes and they fell on his teacher. “Peter here is going to take you down to the front office, have you stop at the nurse and make a call home.” Her voice was weirdly gentle and her head tilted as she spoke to him, “Does that sound okay with you?”

Charlie looks at the stranger,  _ Peter _ , who was, again, nothing but bright eyes, soft blond hair, and a gentle smile. He looked at Charlie with patience, waited for him to reply in a way that told Charlie it was okay if he wasn’t. 

Charlie gave a short, shaky nod, and with the help of a warm hand that never left his, his bag was hefted onto his shoulder. He didn’t miss the teacher trying to discreetly push the letter into Peter’s hand. 

Peter took his hand from Charlie’s, and he almost started crying all over again. It was laid in the middle of his shoulders, a gentle anchor towards the present. Without Peter’s hand in his, Charlie noticed how clammy his was, how small and frail, how cold. He noticed the dirt under his fingernails, and how some were long and chipped while the others looked bitten bloody.

He should try and kick that habit.

Cool air swam around Charlie’s overheated body. Charlie tried to keep his head down as Peter explained what happened as best he could. When the nurse lady asked him what happened Charlie just gave a pathetic shrug.

“I just got…,” his pause was deafening, sickening to his own ears, “overwhelmed.”

The nurse lady was silent for a second, lips pierced with obvious questions, and after a quick look from Peter, understanding.

“Well then,” she rummaged through an ungodly amount of cluttered papers until she retrieved the one she had wanted. Scribbling in the information needed, asking a question or three, then sliding her blue ballpen back into her hair. She hesitated for a moment, the question of  _ who  _ to give the paper to, the distressed Little, or the unknown Dominate? 

Peter took away the question as he slipped it from her grasp and into Charlie’s. The hand returned his back and Charlie was led to the front office. 

The front office lady made Charlie slightly uneasy. She had a kind smile but uncomfortably long nails and unbothered eyes. Charlie gave her the note from the nurse. Her eyes made quick work over the paper, going off here and there to give Charlie and Peter a once-over. She typed something into the computer in front of her, nails making loud clicking sounds that Charlie couldn’t help but wince at.

“You want me to call your mom?” She looked at Charlie and Charlie looked at her, and all he could think was: No, no he did not want her to call his mom. Or his aunt. Or anybody. That would mean questions and looks of pity and side glances and vegan pancakes. That would mean he would lay down in his bed and he would fall asleep and that would just be another day that he didn’t have any choice but to live through without any control. 

“No, that’s all right.” Peter’s voice was like ocean waves in a thunderstorm. It broke through Charlie’s panic like a clock in a silent room. He stared at Peter with wild eyes, breath caught in his chest. “His mom is working right now and it’d be bad to disturb her. I can take him home, though.”

“While that’s very kind of you, Mr. Gold, but you know I’m not allowed to release anyone without parental consent.”

“I’m eighteen,” Charlie piped in, voice shaky and small. “I can go home myself.” He tried to make himself sound confident, but it was rather hard giving, well, everything.

“Well, alright then. You may head out.” She passed the piece of paper back to Charlie with a nod. “You, Mr. Gold, may head back to class.”

“Okay.” Peter shot Charlie a look. A look that said things Charlie didn’t want to listen to.

**\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Charlie turned away and walked out of the school entrance doors. The warmth of the afternoon felt pleasant on his skin. It wasn’t but a minute or two of Charlie standing alone on the sidewalk thinking about walking to the nearest bus stop that a hand landed on his shoulder. He let out a short squick of fear, jumping nearly out of his skin. A smiling Peter stood behind him, hands in his pockets, and cheer in his eyes.

“What are you doing?!”

“What, you think I was going to let you go off all on your own?”

“Of course I did.”

“Well then, you were wrong, weren’t you, silly boy?” 

Charlie did his best to give Peter a glare, but it didn’t do much under the flames rising under his cheeks. 

“Look,” Peter started, a hand coming up to grasp at his nape, his cheeks taking their own strawberry tint. “I was serious about taking you home. My mind just won't stop until I know that you're safe, especially after a drop like that, so um… yeah.”

“I- I can’t just-”

“Please, please charlie?”

Charlie took a risky look into his eyes, and couldn’t stop himself from agreeing, no matter how much he felt like he would be swallowed by the flames of embarrassment. 

With a jerky nod, Peter leads him to an old, red pick-up truck. He helped Charlie in with a strong hand on his back, going as far as to buckle him into the seat. Charlie squealed as Peter’s arm went across his waist, which drew a throaty chuckle from Peter, despite the apology that was quick to fall from his lips. “Instinct,” he shrugged, and that was that.

Peter hadn’t asked for his address, yet pulled across the railroads that lead to the beachside. 

“Where are we going,” Charlie pondered. Peter gave him a side glance and a perfect grin.

“It’s a secret.”

“Oh.”

….

“Thank you, for….” Charlie couldn’t say the words, but the implication was nothing more than naming the uncomfortably large elephant in the room. Anything to fill the awkward silence that has fallen over them.

“No need, Charlie. I wasn’t just going to leave you there, of course, especially after scaring you like I did.” 

“Oh… Well, still, thanks.”

They were quiet again and Charlie chose to silently watch as trees passed them by. He recognized the area of course but still hadn’t figured out where they were headed. 

“Was that the first time you dropped?” Charlie wasn’t surprised by the question, not in the least, in fact, he had been expecting it sooner. He didn’t want to talk about it, but here he was.

“Yeah,” he had to clench his thumb into his palm to keep the urge to bite it at bay. “At least, I think so.”

“I see.” Charlie wanted to scoff, and he would have if it wasn’t for the sudden rocking of the truck as they pulled to a stop in front of a small shack-like shop. 

“Ice-cream?” Charlie asked as he read of the wooden sign.

“The best in town.”

Peter gave Charlie a full-face smile this time, and he could feel his heart palpitate at the sight. He reached across the dash to grab Charlie’s hand in his. 

“Let's go.”


End file.
